


the dream during halloween

by youreanangel



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Brave Eddie Kaspbrak, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Halloween Costumes, Halloween Gift Exchange, M/M, Nervous Eddie Kaspbrak, Nervous Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, because that has to be a tag nowadays and not just a given, bev and stan? royalty, bill throws a halloween party, love at first sight of sorts?, richie did sports and hated them! he is correct, richie? a mess, the nightmare before christmas references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 10:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21269498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreanangel/pseuds/youreanangel
Summary: “Rich.” Richie hears from his left, moving limply as he’s shouldered softly.“Yeah?” He mutters, keeping his eyes tracked on the boy across the room. He’s sitting by himself on the couch, painted light blue hands gripping a red solo cup weakly, lifting every once in awhile to drink.Bev shoves him a little harder, and Richie finally tears his eyes away from the angel on the couch. “Come on man, you’re being creepy. Stop staring at that poor kid. And you haven’t even seen his full face; his mask is covering part of it.”“Yeah, no shit Bev. But you’d be surprised with what I can make do with having only half a face,” he says, his brows doing a little dance as he grins down at her.Or Richie is slowly convinced that’s there’s an angel at Bill’s Halloween party.





	the dream during halloween

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reddieforlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddieforlove/gifts).

> this was a gift for reddieforlove for the reddielibrary halloween gift exchange! hope you love it bri happy halloween :-)

Richie doesn’t really believe in God, well, at least not to a certain extent. Okay, scratch that. He believes in _something_, he’s just not sure if it’s a God or a superior entity or some stupid shit like that. 

What he _does_ believe though, at this exact moment, is that angels are real, and he just witnessed the _king_ of the angels. Maybe that means the god of the angels or whatever, but he doesn’t exactly care about the correct terminology because he’s pretty sure this boy is a real life angel.

REO Speedwagon’s _I Can’t Fight This Feeling_ is thrumming lowly through the speakers by the fireplace, and Richie really needs to find Bill to congratulate him on his music taste. _I'm keeping you in sight_ is right, Richie muses indistinctly. 

“Rich.” He hears from his left, moving limply as he’s shouldered softly. 

“Yeah?” He mutters, keeping his eyes tracked on the boy across the room. He’s sitting by himself on the couch, painted light blue hands gripping a red solo cup weakly, lifting every once in awhile to drink. 

Bev shoves him a little harder, and Richie finally tears his eyes away from the angel on the couch. “Come on man, you’re being creepy. Stop staring at that poor kid. And you haven’t even seen his full face; his mask is covering part of it.” 

“Yeah, no shit Bev. But you’d be surprised with what I can do with only half a face,” he says, his brows doing a little dance as he grins down at her. “Also,” he continues, reaching towards her headband, “can you start warning me when you want to talk to me? I’m not used to— this—“ he gestures to the dark hair curling right above her shoulders, making a grab at it, but Bev shoots his hand away from where it’s getting dangerously close to her headband. “I always think you’re someone creeping on me.”

Beverly grabs a black curl resting right above her shoulder, almost absentmindedly, and tugs on it loosely. She’s dressed as Snow White, and had dyed her hair with Richie’s own help two days ago. He’s still not used to it though, and it struck him this morning while doing his own hair how much they look like siblings now. 

“I can barely understand you,” she lifts her own solo cup to her mouth, taking a sip of what is presumably something non-alcoholic. “Take that stupid mask off and face me like a woman. Or go talk to the guy on the couch.”

Richie wriggles uncomfortably. _God_ does he want to go talk to the boy with probably the best Halloween costume here. Better than Princess Diana and Prince Charles he’s here with, for sure. But he’s nervous. He only came to terms with this whole _I-want-to-kiss-boys-like-a-lot-thing_ only recently, and even then he hasn’t even come to terms with it super well. The only reason Bev knows is because she’s Bev. His ride or die, his best friend, his platonic life partner, yadda yadda yadda. Same deal with Stan. He knows stuff about them that he’ll take to the grave, and vice versa. 

“I like the mask. It’s gives an air of… sexy mystery.” Richie slouches against the wall, turning away from Bev. His eyes make their way to the boy across the room, trying to pretend he’s not staring. He knows he’s not doing an entirely good job. 

“Not really— definitely not sexy. It’s kind of creepy. I can’t really tell where you’re looking at.” Stan remarks, saddling up next to them. He leans against the wall too, bumping his shoulder against Richie’s. His fancy blue prince pants look funny next to Richie’s black and white pinstripe pants.

“He’s looking over there— at zombie boy.“ Bev nods towards the couch across the room. “Where were you?” She adds, leaning to look over Richie towards Stan. 

Richie turns to Beverly, staring down at her sable head, astonished. “Do _not_ just tell me you called him a zombie—”

“Getting water,” Stan says, lifting up the water bottle in his hands to show her, promptly cutting Richie off. Probably to save himself of a stupid argument. “Why don’t you go talk to him, Rich?” He suggests, loud enough to be heard over the music but not enough for the people around them to hear. He reaches over to Richie’s face and lifts his mask to sit on top of his head. 

Richie shakes his head vigorously, his mask flopping over and onto his face again. “Fuck no, Fresh Prince of Derry. I’ll just stare at Himeros for now.” 

Beverly snickers, but Stan looks at him, probably judging him. Richie sees his brows draw in the middle, and it sounds like he’s smiling when he says, “wouldn’t he be Anteros—?”

The sound of a shriek makes its way to Richie’s ears, and he gets the inkling that it’s probably a little more important than some girl getting teased or tickled or whatever the fuck off in the corner. He’s right, because when he looks over, Anteros is laughing at something Bill Denbrough is saying to him. “Oh my God. Did you guys hear that?”

“No? What?” Stan says, looking around, intrigued. “What is it, Richie?” 

“I think I just heard an angel sing.” Richie sighs dreamily, slumping against the wall even further. 

“Actually, I think you mean a _god_ sing—“

“Oh, just go talk to the guy!” Bev gestures to the boy on the couch with her drink, some of it sloshing out of the cup and onto the floor, splashing Richie’s Chucks lightly. 

“And it’s not _sing_, dingus. It’s _laugh_. Maybe he shouldn’t go talk to him,” Stan continues, “he’ll embarrass himself.” 

“I don’t have to listen to this abuse,” pushing himself off the wall, Richie turns to the royalty behind him. “I’m going to get another drink! Is there anything your highnesses would enjoy from the area of feeding?” He pretends to bow, and snickers when he hears Stan mutter _no, thank you, asshat_.

Bev does what Richie could only describe as a soft karate chop on each shoulder— the name escapes him— and she giggles also. “I’d like an orange juice.”

“Even though I just suffered some verbal abuse from you not even five minutes ago—“ he calls, walking away, “I will get you your juice of orange. _With bubbly water, you freak_!” He calls, finishing her sentence before she even begins to start talking. 

“Fucking— bubbly water. Fucking disgusting,” he mutters, walking up to the makeshift bar in the kitchen.  
“Hey, man.” He nods to Mike Hanlon in the kitchen, smiling. He always liked Mike. And Bill, too, when he had been on the lacrosse team last year. The rest of the team fucking sucked— and so did the sport in general, if he’s being honest. He can’t count how many hallelujahs he said the last day of practice.

Mike tilts his head, squinting at him. He raises his hand in a slow, confused wave. 

“Oh,” Richie laughs, pulling his mask up and over his head. “Sorry, man.”

“Oh!” Mike chuckles, walking up next to him. He bades goodbye to the girl next to him, sliding up next to Richie and leaning against the counter. “I thought it was you, Rich. You know— cause of the hair—“ he gestures to the mess of curls on Richie’s head, “— but it looked shorter so I wasn’t sure. Also, your neck is super white.”

“You mean whiter than usual?” Richie cracks, mixing Bev’s monstrosity of a drink. 

Mike gasps out a surprised laugh.“Yeah. Okay, whiter than usual.” 

Not quite what he was expecting, a similar laugh makes its way out of his throat. “I got a _sexy_ haircut, dude, that’s why you didn’t recognize me in my _sexy_ costume.” He says, still chuckling. He punctuates his sentence with a pop of his hip, grinning over at Mike briefly before turning back to the mouth-sore in front of him. 

“Speaking of, I like your costume. That movie’s pretty cool.” 

“I know, but do you know how many _oh, are you Beetlejuice_?’s I’ve gotten tonight? You think the mask would be a dead giveaway. Or that Bill wouldn’t have invited such dumb fucking people to his party.” Richie rolls his eyes, smiling at Mike’s nice rumble of a laugh. “I mean— I knew half the lacrosse team had zero brain cells, but you'd think at least some of the art kids would be smart. This movie only came out a year ago.” He scoffs. He grabs a half-filled Coke bottle in front of him and the Fanta next to it, pouring them into a solo cup, stirring them together with a straw. He lifts the cup to his mouth and takes a sip, turning fully to look at Mike, from feet to the top of his head. “What’re you supposed to be, anyway? Wait— no! Let me guess, let me guess.”

Mike shrugs, gesturing at him with his own solo cup as if to say _alright man, go ahead_. 

Mike has got on a yellow blazer, a red scarf around his neck, and a toque. Richie has literally no idea what he is. 

“No-fence man, but what the fuck are you? I’m trying to come up with something funny but I’m coming up short.” 

Mike laughs, like he’d been expecting that, and says, “I’m one of the boys from the Rice Krispies box. You know? It’s a group costume, with Bill and Ben.”

Richie nods. He knows Ben; he’s in his Humanities class and was in his SAT prep class last year, and he thinks _Friends_ is funny, but never mind that little drawback, because he’s also probably the nicest fucking person Richie has ever met. He’s been meaning to ask him to hang out or something, but it’s not quite something he’s gotten around to yet, for whatever reason. In short, he’s just cool, and he makes Richie feel good. Same deal with Bill, and Mike. He smiles. “I was wondering what the fuck Bill was. I thought he was the little Nutcracker boy.” 

Mike bursts out laughing, slapping Richie on the arm. “I can’t wait to tell him that,” he mutters, small hiccups escaping his lips as he continues to chuckle, “he’ll love that—“

“Hi, Mike. Can I get by?” A soft voice says behind Richie. Both him and Mike turn around concurrently, and Richie chokes on the drink he unluckily lifted to his lips only a moment before, because there he is. The Himeros. Or Anteros. Whatever it is, or was, Richie can’t focus, or remember. He feels as if his brain has melted straight out of his ears and onto the floor, or into his drink, or _something_. He has no idea. None of it really matters right now, anyway. 

Mike says something that Richie tunes out accidentally, and he slides easily out of the way. They start talking, but Richie has no idea what they’re saying. The thoughts in his own head drown out their talk, and the loud talking all around him, and the sound of the opening chords of _Witchy Woman_ starting up, all to a dull murmur as he stares at the back of the boy’s head. He feels like he _should_ be listening to what him and Mike are talking about— to maybe pick up on a few things or something— but he’s too far gone now, his thoughts wrapping around his mind like a telephone cord around a finger. 

Richie cannot understand for the _life_ of him why he has _never_ seen this boy around. He’s a fucking _senior_ this year, for Chrissake, and their school isn’t even that big like one of those schools up in Portland or Bangor. About six or seven hundo kids, give or take. And it’s not like he’s an unobservant person. He typically likes to think of himself as pretty observant, actually, and there’s not a chance in hell this kid would _not_ catch his attention. He hasn’t even had the honor of having this kid’s face grace his shitty vision, but he already knows it’s going to be an appealing face.

“—Richie?” 

“Huh?” Richie’s head snaps up from where he was staring at Himeros’ feet toward whoever said his name.

It was Mike, and he’s smiling crookedly, like he’s waiting for Richie to answer. “See you later, Rich?” He says, and Richie figures he’s repeating it by the way he’s smiling and the tone of his voice.

“Oh. Yeah, see ya later, Snap.” He nods, a grin splitting his face as Mike returns it, turning to leave.

And then it’s just him and the angel, he realises a few seconds after Mike’s trodden off to go talk to Ben in the corner of the kitchen. 

It’s quiet, and it’s funny because _everyone_ around them is talking, and Richie has always hated quiet. He opens his mouth to say something, pretty much anything that comes to his head first, but the boy beats him to it. And it’s perfect for two reasons. 

“Hey, Bone Daddy,” the boy says to him softly— like, _to him, directly_— and he kind of smiles, laughing to himself.

It’s perfect because Richie had absolutely no _idea_ what he was going to say, so pretty much _anything_ could have run out of his mouth, which doesn’t always fly so well depending on who he’s talking to. That greeting knocks the wind out of him though, promptly knocking whatever embarrassing thing Richie could have said out of his mind, too, which he’s entirely grateful for. 

It’s also perfect because by the minute he’s being proven right about this boy being an angel. 

“Get it? It’s from the movie.” Himeros continues, almost uncertainly. Richie wishes he could see his face— the mask is partially in the way, and he’s ducked over his own drink that he’s making. 

“Yeah, I get it,” he says in a rush, voice cracking. He takes a deep breath, continuing, “I’ve seen it like a billion times, so.” He trails off. “It’s my favorite,” he adds after a moment. The word _fuck_ bounces around his head, feeling like he’s embarrassing himself or being especially awkward.

“Mine too.” The boy responds, turning to smile at Richie briefly. “When I chose my costume, I thought it was weird not having a Jack to go with, but Bill told me it looked fine.” 

“It does!” Richie blurts, and okay, yeah, he doesn’t exactly have a filter, but there are times when he thinks maybe he should work on that. Like right now. “I mean— it does. Look fine. I mean— I went as Jack without a Sally, and it’s not weird, right? So a Sally without Jack is not weird.” He’s rambling, and the boy is giggling, and most of the anxiety drains from his body because _this_— laughter, making people laugh— this is easy. _Laughing_ makes him easy. The tension drains from his shoulders, from his brows, the anxiety flooding his body evaporates as he continues, a smile spreading across his face as he says, “your costume is definitely the sexiest one here. Excluding the cheeseburger playing beer pong, of course.” 

Richie watches as a flush coats the boy’s blue cheeks, and it’s probably the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. “Of course. Naturally.” He agrees, nodding along with Richie. He’s finished making his drink, and he turns to lean against the counter to face Richie. “And we— well we found each other, so now there’s no lonely Jack and Sally.” The boy says, and he smiles again. He sounds kind of nervous, and it further confirms Richie’s idea that yeah, this boy is his dream boy. 

Richie grins down at him, and the brief thought of how short this boy is crosses his mind. He finally takes in the boy’s full appearance now that he’s standing right in front of him, face and all. Everything about him just screams _cute_ to Richie, from the sewn patches all over his pants and shirt, to the black boots he’s wearing. Richie notices that his hair is spray-dyed a vivid red, and it’s done really well. _He probably went through at least two bottles_, Richie muses. His drawn on stitched smile is curved up even more so than it already is due to the boy’s smile, and it makes Richie smile. 

The boy is looking him up and down—_checking me out_, Richie thinks nervously, _Gee-zus_— just like Richie was a second ago. The boy can’t see his face— _when did I put this thing on again?_— and that is both a shame and a blessing. 

“Do you— um—” the boy starts nervously, looking down into his cup and then back up again, “do you want to go up to Bill’s room, or something? To talk more? I feel kind of cramped in here.”

Richie nods, and then realizes it might look like he’s saying no because of the mask, so he clarifies verbally with a loud, “yes! Let’s go. Do that. Lead the way, Sally.”

Himeros-Sally laughs, shaking his head, and leads the way out of the kitchen and up the stairs right outside of the kitchen. Richie follows, not seeing Stan or Bev anywhere. He mentally thanks whatever deity out there is throwing him a bone, and climbs the stairs two at a time, lifting his mask as he reaches the top step. 

“So,” the boy starts, leaning against the door once it closes. He sounds nervous again, and it drives a lot of the remaining anxiety Richie is feeling out of his chest. “Can I um— can I do something?” He shakes his head, looking down at the floor and frowning at his feet. “Sorry. That came out wrong. Can I _try_ something, I mean.” 

“Like— like what? Like smelling Bill’s underwear, or looking for his porn mags? Because I bet they smell like—“ 

“Shut up,” the boy says, and it’s not very serious, as he makes his way slowly to Richie, who’s standing in the middle of the room, feeling silly all of a sudden. He places his hands on Richie’s shoulders, and does this thing that Richie _really_ likes where he smooths them over the expanse of his shoulder softly. He rises up on his toes and his face suddenly becomes a lot closer to Richie’s. From behind his mask and through the peepholes, his eyes are telling Richie that he can tell him to stop. Richie does not tell him to stop.

And then suddenly there are soft lips on his. Uncertain, but not unstable. Richie’s eyes are open the whole time, and now he _definitely_ feels like a fool. 

The boy leans back slightly, and one of his hands comes up to take off his mask. He tosses it onto Bill’s bed, and then makes eye contact with Richie again, and _Gee-zus_, this boy is the _definition_ of cute. He’s the end-all-be-all of cute boys. Freckles smattering his nose and cheeks. Crinkles next to his eyes from smiling at the moment. Long, pretty lashes. Thick, bushy brows.

“I don’t know your name,” is what he says after a few moments of just staring at Richie, also. 

“Richie. It’s Richie.” Richie breathes out, “and yours—“

“It’s Eddie.” He says softly. 

“Well, Eddie-Spaghetti. I thought you just wanted to talk?”

The boy— _Eddie_— frowns for the first time tonight. “That’s not my name,” Eddie argues. His frown is almost as cute as his smile. 

“Not anymore. It’s Eddie-Spaghetti. Or if you don’t like that, I can call you Spaghedward. And if you’re not into pasta at all, Eds can work.” Richie rambles, and then Eddie is pressing his lips to Richie’s again. 

“I guess I didn’t come up here to talk. _You_ sure did though,” Eddie retorts when he leans back again, and Richie can feel him smiling, and that is something he’s _definitely_ into. 

Richie’s eyes are closed this time as he replies with a breathless laugh. “Where have you been all of my life?” 

“Here and there,” he responds vaguely. It’s very obviously a joke, and Richie can’t help but laugh again. After he stops chuckling, Eddie answers honestly, telling him that he’s just quiet, and points out that they obviously have had very different schedules.

They end up laying down on Bill’s bed on their sides while Eddie talks, Richie’s mask thrown up by Bill’s pillow next to Eddie’s. Richie realizes Eddie’s probably as much of a talker as Richie is himself as he rambles on about the organization of classes. “I guess the people who organize classes just hate us. You know, since we seem to have never shared a class together. You’re not taking any AP classes, right?”

Richie shakes his head. “No.” 

Eddie frowns, “me neither,” he mumbles, biting his lip. “I don’t get why we’re not in any of the same regular classes, then.”

What he says goes in one ear and out the other. Eddie’s bitten lips have captured his full attention, and he wants to kiss them. Bad. So he leans over quickly and does.

Eddie splutters, seemingly caught by surprise, blush coating his blue cheeks again. “I— um— oh. Okay.”

“Sorry,” Richie hastens to say, shaking his head again, glasses getting pushed against his face and his hands under his head feeling uncomfortable. “I didn’t know if—“

“No! It’s fine,” Eddie shakes his head too, soft smile reappearing on his face. “It’s fine,” he repeats, softer this time. “I probably should have asked first, anyway. So _I’m_ sorry.”

Richie scoffs, dramatic. “It’s fine. _You’re_ fine. You did kinda ask, anyway. Besides, I wanted those cute lips on me, anyways,” Richie grins, laughing at Eddie’s bashful smile and the roll of his eyes. 

When Eddie doesn’t say anything for a few moments, Richie fears he made it awkward, but then Eddie looks into his eyes and cracks a smile, a laugh escaping his mouth. He starts to laugh even more, and then _Richie_ starts to laugh, and then suddenly they’re laughing together on Bill’s bed in their _Nightmare Before Christmas_ Halloween costumes at nothing. This is the best Richie has felt in a long time. He feels as if he’s known Eddie for years, and not just for two hours. 

Eddie wipes away a few tears from his eyes, rolling onto his back and staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Bill has on his ceiling. “I’m glad I met you,” he says softly, in the Eddie-way he does that Richie is grown accustomed to in the past couple of hours. 

“Same here, Eds.” Richie whispers back. 

Eddie’s hand reaches over and threads through the hand Richie has resting by his face. Still on his side, and staring at Eddie’s face poised up to the ceiling with his eyes closed, Richie can’t help but think for the hundredth time that night _yeah, definitely an angel_.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos keep my family fed so if you’ve got the time please leave some thank u


End file.
